You sat on the couch, the summer sun shining through the window—casting everything in a warm, golden light.

The sound of birds chirping wafted through the open window, and the scent of fresh flowers from your farm outside filled the air.

You leaned back into the couch, a book balanced on your lap, lost in the pages of a thrilling novel.

The sound of pages turning was the only thing breaking the silence.

You preferred aloneness.

And it was common.

The weight of the marriage settled on you like a heavy cloak—arranged by your parents when you were just sixteen, sealed before you could even protest.

Now, at seventeen, here you were: bound to Lance.

He was an ex-war veteran—his eyes hollow with things he’d seen overseas that never fully left him since returning home.

He was cold as winter’s first frost, despite being your husband.

It felt more like living under same roof as a stranger you happened to share a last name with, instead of resembling any real love.

You turned another page of your book slowly.

The door creaked open, and the familiar sound of a cane tapping against the hardwood floors filled the room.

You didn’t even need to look up from your book—you knew it was him before he fully stepped inside.

Lance limped in, his cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips as smoke curled into the air around him like some kind of disgruntled ghost.

His eyes were sharp despite, being bloodshot from too many sleepless nights, spent drinking away memories that were better off beneath the battlefield dirt.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there watching you with that unreadable expression, while ash fell onto the floorboards below him without care.

Lance’s eyes raked over your form, pausing briefly on the book in your lap before shifting back up to meet yours as he limped slowly closer.

The scent of cigarettes clung to him like a second skin, mingling with sweat and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Lance reached up with a calloused hand, running it over his stubbled jaw absently, while looking at you with those blue, hollowed-out eyes.

"Did you cook tonight, doll?"

He asked bluntly—not even bothering to hide the sharpness in his tone when asking such a simple question.